lusus naturae (noun).

Unable to really help himself, Franklin’s eyes gradually traveled down the stripper’s body, appreciating the exposed musculature and skin. “Let me guess, you were a contractor, got a sweet deal with the Trump family and he stiffed ya.” the blond cringes at the thought. He’s had to deal with a few of those cases before, and the family always made sure to drag things out until his clients ran out of cash.

“Wait, is that how we know each other?” he wags a finger, his brows scrunching up as he tried to recall his Trump-related suits. Did I try to take on your case back in… what, ‘13?” He pulls out his phone, shining the light of his home screen onto the redhead’s face to get a better look at him. Sadly, he couldn’t attach a name to that finely chiseled face. “There was a Kevin, a Lawrence, and Jim…”

Dorian wants to give into irritation and snap at Franklin. The only thing that’s stopping him is that he doesn’t want to sound like a crazy person, which will inevitably happen if he stomps his leg, insisting he means the Devil. 

Oh, God, was this some kid he maybe kind of slept with at Harvard and totally forgot about? It was the only explanation Franklin could come up with for the stripper’s reaction, that is until he asks him if he was still a lawyer. “Yes,” the blond replies slowly, eyes discreetly searching for security cameras just in case the hot mess tries to frame him for anything. “Look, I don’t know how we know each other, but I just wanted to make sure you’re… okay.” And by okay he meant he wasn’t going to sue him and his friends. “Are you okay?”

“Oh uh,” there’s a wrinkle between Franklin’s brows. He had broken away from his colleagues to apologize to the very attractive stripper James had upset. He wasn’t expecting to be recognized by them. “Do I know you?” Probably a client, from early on. Way early on. Back when he was fresh and doing stuff pro-bono. “Look, I just came to apologize for my friend’s behavior.”

Strip clubs weren’t Franklin’s scene, in fact, he’s only been to two in his entire life– one for his eighteenth birthday and the other was a colleague’s bachelor party but, clearly, the guys at the office seemed to think it’s where he wanted to be. “Oh,” Franklin’s eyes widened as they landed on a leather-clad waiter passing by. “This is one of those…” gay “male clubs.” Weston, one of his paralegals, couldn’t quite make out what the blond had shouted, but nodded and grinned anyways.

There was a total of four of them, Weston, James, Matthew, and Franklin, all settled at seats along the edge of the main stage, all sporting the same suits they wore to court just hours ago. “Hey toots,” James, an attorney with skin as rich as terracotta stopped a nearby waiter or stripper with a slap to his ass and a cheeky smile, “how about drink and dance, baby!”

Dorian’s life has been a complete mystery to him for the past three days. He was a stripper and not just in title --- that satanic bastard has made it so Dominic actually had the moves. The first time they pushed him on stage, it shocked Dominic to realize his body knew the moves and did everything as if it was made for this (and given the circumstances, Lucifer had probably done just that). And then people threw money at him, which was a bit offensive, but when Dominic stormed out and tried to go back home, he realized he didn’t even know the world he was placed in. Sure, it looked the same, but his family name didn’t exist, neither did his properties, money, or influence. He came back to the club next day, only because he had no idea what else to do, and sleeping on the street felt like a worse option. Next time people threw money at him, Dominic took them. It felt awful, and understandably, he wasn’t in the mood.

“That’s not how that works,” Lucifer hums, not at all bothered by Dominic’s reaction. Although, his eyes did narrow at the human’s apparent ire with his mother. “I’ve found humans generally don’t know what they want. One moment it’s one thing, the next it’s something entirely different. But if you’re a man who is so sure of what he wants…” He shrugs, the empty glass in Dominic’s hands filling up with a seductive red liquid. “I could give you just the one.”

Right, right. This one isn’t a complete idiot. “Is that what you’re worried about? Damnation?” He asks, picking up Dominic’s discarded water, a hint of amusement lacing his voice. The water in his hand is suddenly a mouth-watering martini, but Lucifer doesn’t offer it to the human, instead, he wraps an arm around the man’s shoulders to keep him in place and downs the drink in one quick motion. “You may say that but, I can feel there’s something missing in your life.”

Blue eyes scan the room, the Devil’s expression remaining unimpressed by his surroundings, and picks up a knick-knack. Did any of this junk have any meaningful value to the man or was it just random shit to show off his wealth? “Something tells me fame and power won’t do much, but we could give it a try,” Lucifer muses, turning his attention away from the object to tap a finger on Dominic’s chest, just above his heart. “See if that fills that hole inside you. Six wishes. Six tries to change your life for the better. Six chances at happiness.”

“I wasn’t until I met you. Could have left me damn my soul myself, but now I’m considering pulling a Bill Gates with the rest of my life.” The man’s touch is no longer wanted, no matter how handsome he is, so Dominic shrugs the hand off his shoulder. “Oh my God, don’t quote my mother. That’s just disturbing.”

That wasn’t how his deals worked, but Lucifer wasn’t about to go and spoil his fun by explaining things to the miserable creature. The Devil sighs and pushes himself off the bed. You know, for a prince, he did an awful lot of servent work for people. “Water,” he says, upon returning, holding a glass full of lukewarm water in hand. Dominic never specified how he preferred his glass, so he took the liberty of making as unenjoyable as possible.

Realizing his state of undress, Lucifer snaps his fingers and in a blink of an eye, he’s dressed again. A fancy black suit that was tailored perfectly to his form and a red silken tie to pull it all together. “Well, yes.” He replies, pulling out a metal cigarette case from his pocket, flipping it open with a flick of his wrist. “I mean, you’re not using anyways, are you? Might as well sell it to me.”

“Well, I’m not just selling my soul, am I? I’m selling you the pleasure of my eternal damnation.” That is, if he remembers correctly. Dominic hasn’t spend that much time in the company of the Bible, or any hardcore fan of it.

“Well, I’m granting you your wish, silly.” A sly grin spreads across Lucifer’s features as he turns to soak in the man’s panic. Panic was always suck a cute look on men with dominant personalities. He pulls out a small voice recorder out of, seemingly, nowhere and presses a button, Dorian’s voice playing back at him.

‘I wish I’d have you in my bed tonight. You, me, naked, fucking? Sound good? Then you can have my soul, baby. ’

“This is your bed,” he presses a finger into the fine sheets, then wags it between them. “We’re both naked and we’re about to get on with the fucking portion of the wish.” Lucifer leans in, let two fingers travel up the length of Dorian’s bare arm. “I can go on for days, ceaseless animalistic fucking.” He nips at the lawyer’s ear. “Your poor ass is going to be so sore.”

“This is way too freaky, I won’t be able to get it up now. Get me a glass to  water.” Dominic climbs off the bed to pace around the room, a hand in his hair. “Not to mention that if your plan was to fuck me, then this whole deal was off before it even began.”

He stops to really look at the naked man in his bed. Now, he seems unnaturally human. “You really want my soul?”

“I said small.” Lucifer preferred tight bodied twinks but, whatever, he shrugged and with another snap of his fingers they’re in Dorian’s bed, both naked and the red head’s wrists cuffed to the bed frame. He never specified the details, so Lucifer was taking charge and assuming his preferred role. “Hm,” the fallen angel pulls a bottle of lube from the bedside drawer and examines it as he ignores whatever it is that Dorian’s up to on the bed. How long would it take for that human brain of his to catch up? “You know… most people don’t wish for this sort of thing. Well– they do,” he fishes out a condom, nose wrinkling as he tosses it across the room. “But it’s usually with their ideal man or woman.”

Dorian blinked slowly, confusion growing as everything around him changed, including his attire. “Hold up, I don’t feel so good,” he said, putting a hand on the man’s chest. How much did he have to drink to blank out this hard? “Christ, I think I might throw up. What the hell happened?” Shoving the man some more, Dorian rises up to a sitting position, hoping the spinning will stop.

But--- It’s different. Dorian knows what being too drunk feels like. This is not it. He’s sane and there was no blank spot. Things just... changed. In an instant. “What the fuck did you do?”

The rationalists never believed the fancy print, and their reactions to realizing that he was, in fact, very real typically brought Lucifer some amusement. So, even if he didn’t win the human’s soul tonight, he could, at least, enjoy the man’s panic. “Isn’t it obvious?” He asks, tapping on his name. “You’re soul, darling. What else would the Devil want?” An idea strikes him as his eyes drop to Dorian’s empty glass. “Or is it that you don’t believe I’m who I say I am?” He gives Dorian an impish sidelong glance. “Would you like me to prove it? One little wish.”

“I wish I’d have you in my bed tonight,” Dominic grins, sliding his leg up Lucifer’s under the table. While the guys might be clinically insane, he’s also undeniable attractive. And Dominic is but a slave to his penis’ desires. “You, me, naked, fucking? Sound good? Then you can have my soul, baby. But not my number.”

The vest was a bit 2016, he’ll admit, but he generally didn’t care about what the soon to be eternally damned were wearing. “Pretty enough?” An amused grin swept across Lucifer’s lips. He deserved words far better than pretty. Was this that negging thing Lilith droned on about? Human mating rituals made less and less sense as time went by.

“I don’t think I’m your type.” He couldn’t picture this man being fond of his own rituals. “But I can give you what you want. A dead brother, a father who loves and respects you, an adoring partner, power,  happiness.” The raven-haired angel takes a slow and deliberate sip of his drink and levels Dorian with a sly gaze. “Anything at all.” There’s a snap of his fingers, a black matt business card abruptly appearing between them, the name Lucifer, Prince of Darkness and the numbers 666 embossed in fine red calligraphy at its center. “I’m Lucifer.” He says, pushing the card across the bar top towards Dorian’s fingers. “And you are Dorian Purcell.”

“You are. I’d guess you’re everyone’s type.” The promise of getting what he wants sounds sexual enough, but then the guy keeps talking and Dorian has to pause and stare at him, a little confused. It could be the alcohol’s fault, but he was sure he heard ‘dead brother’. “I’m sorry?” 

The guy does a whole magic show. Dorian half-expects him to pull a coin from behind his ear (which would make Dorian roll his eyes so hard he might pass out), but the dude refrains. “Flashy,” he snorts and takes the card, due to his good manners. “Mhm. So what is it you want exactly?” he decides to finish the rest of his drink in one go and waves to the waiter for another, while giving the card a good long look. “An expose? I’m all out of scandals at the moment, but maybe give it a week and the story will write itself.”

@demondorian

Predetermined selection. God wanted a challenge, and well, here he was. The ginger-haired human was already on a path to Hell, which left Lucifer awfully confused by his mother’s choice this round. Surely, she could see what he saw, a complete and utterly lost cause.

“You look… dissatisfied.” Lucifer blurts out, having appeared in the seat beside Dorian Percell within a blink of an eye. The bartender placed a glass of whiskey before him, giving the well-dressed devil a wink and a playful smirk as he sauntered off. “Do you feel as though you’re missing something in life?”

Dominic blinks. He was sure there was nowhere there a moment ago, but that just show he had too many drinks already. “Is it my vest?” he asks, half amused by the accusation. Not that he isn’t dissatisfied, but what rich person is? Trust fund blues are part of the money deal.

“God, that’s a great pick up line, but you don’t have to try so hard, darling. You’re pretty enough to get away with doing the bare minimum.”

“Wha–” Hudson frowns, taking a step back. “Her actually, and no. I don’t even remember her name.” He scratches the back of his head with one hand. “Actually, I barely remember what she looks like…”

“Fucking while coked up is pretty amazing…” Hudson muses, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Haven’t done that since…” Brown eyes flicker down to his wrist, a motion he did to check the time despite never having worn a watch. How he got into that habit in the first place is a mystery even to him. “Last night?”

“I’m not sure how you didn’t notice,” Hudson tries not to roll his eyes at the dramatics. “I was pretty open about it.” He shrugs, heading back towards his pile of dirty laundry. “Don’t got any cash on me so I can’t pay ya back for the food or the sweatpants.” The junkie plucks his soiled clothes off the ground, slipping his shoes back on before turning back around to face Patrick. “Not unless you want a line of coke or something?”

If Hudson had been eating or drinking anything he would have chocked the moment Patrick uttered that surname. Instead, he just stares at him silently. “I was on a lot of drugs and booze,” he points out. And yeah, he sort of vaguely remembers the kid. Vaguely. “Like, I know you were there but I don’t really remember anything specific.” And now he feels a little bad. The nerd obviously looked up to him as a kid. “You want me to blow you or something? For those sandwiches.”

“I’m not mad,” Hudson grumbles, coming to a stop. “I’m thoroughly weird out, man.” The compliments were not helping. They were weird and felt entirely unnatural.“How would you feel if some dude, you don’t remember very well, invited you into their house and suddenly popped a boner on you?” Hudson grabs the sweats with a small sigh, and quickly pulls them on, not bothering to turn around to shield the goods from Patrick’s view. “Your ex?” That was genuinely surprising. In fact, so much so, that he had a feeling the guy was lying about it. “You had an ex?”